North
by InkandPaper
Summary: Sirius' journey from Azkaban to Hogwarts in PoA. Away from the mind-ravaging Dementors, lost memories begin to resurface as Sirius makes his way northward on his hunt for Wormtail.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: All characters belong to J. K. Rowling.**

A/N: I'll refrain from saying it throughout the rest of the story, but reviews are always very much appreciated!

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_Prologue_

It was early morning, yet dark as night – and far colder. Mist cloaked the island, sea mist that left water running in rivulets down the creases of rocks, to pool and turn to cracked ice at their bases. No matter that winter was long gone; on the island it was always deathly cold and shadowy, and as the five-foot thick walls of the prison let no murmur escape from within it was also as stiflingly silent as a grave.

So when the sudden noise shattered the air it was piercing enough to jolt the dead from their slumbers. It was a long, drawn-out wailing, it was a shrieking cry to the darkness, which seemed to cause even the strong enchantments wrapped round the stones of the fortress walls to tremble. It was the Azkaban prison siren, warning every hooded guard on the great rock of the escape of a prisoner; one miserable unfortunate whose body would surely soon hang limp and lifeless on the rocks, whose deathly blue lips would bear the imprint of the Kiss...

The mist seemed to shrink and beckon, waiting for the emergence of the escapee from the stone fortress. And it was not disappointed; within seconds, a thin dark form could be seen flinging itself forward with strength and speed, bounding with a strange grace and iron purpose over the rocks. But it was not a man. It was a dog.

The dog ran for its life, leaping over the salt-stinking rocks and slipping in the sea-slime. Its hollow eyes blazed in its wolfish face, burning with intent and some deep, unspeakable anger. Already the dark forms of the prison guards were rising gloatingly from the castle, the gaping hole of darkness in their hoods turning, searching...

But the dog did not look back. Its limbs were cramped and painful after twelve long years of confinement to a ten-foot cell, and its breath came in hot, agonising gasps. The strength with which it forced its thin legs to cover the ground, to claw its way over rocks, to swim for short stretches through sudden deep and freezing pools of salt-water came from some untapped resource, some rekindled fire. The great rock on which Azkaban was built was over two miles wide, but the sea was suddenly within sight and the mournful sigh of the breaking waves within earshot.

With the first taste of sea-spray, the dog also tasted freedom. It no longer felt the pain in its over-worked limbs, no longer felt fear for those hooded figures which were now, it knew, gliding with terrible speed over the rocks behind him – it feared nothing, because it was too close now to feel anything but exultation. When a dark-cloaked guard rose up seemingly out of nowhere, less than ten yards away, it was with a derisive bark and shake of the fur that the dog lengthened its strides, evaded the Dementor, forced its lean body between the bars of the great iron gates, and plunged headfirst into the sea and the enveloping mist.

The guards turned their hooded faces towards the sound of the splash, but it was too late. Confused impressions of some half-human presence had swum past their senses, and aimlessly they struggled to pinpoint the ever-retreating intelligence – then the dog forced its way further through the battering waves, nose lifted desperately above the rolling water and front paws paddling furiously – and it was gone.

And while the exhausted animal fought its way furiously through the battling waves, choking on salt water and freezing half to death in the cold of the North Sea, and slowly by slowly escaping the utter cold and darkness that hung perpetually round the island, an urgent message was being relayed through the Ministry of Magic that, for the first time in history, one of the highest-security prisoners had successfully fled the wizarding fortress of Azkaban.


	2. The East Coast

1.

The sun was blazingly hot that day in mid-July. It rose steadily, burning down on the south-east English coast. Lowestoft Beach had always been popular in summer, and this year was no exception. Holidaymakers, mostly harassed-looking parents with wildly excited children, trickled onto the beach to spread towels and straw mats on the yellow-brown sand.

A girl and a boy, freckled and sunburnt and aged about eight or nine, were playing together near the sea edge. A huge and wildly misshapen sandcastle stood between them.

'Let's put shells on it,' suggested the girl brightly, tossing back her long brown plaits and brushing the wet sand off her hands.

''K,' said the boy amiably. 'C'mon then.'

They set off along the side of the water, stooping down every now and then to pick up a shell, usually broken or grimy or even, to their disgust, containing some revolting half-rotten sea-creature.

'Say,' said the boy, suddenly. 'Ain't this one a beauty?' He dropped to his knees and scrabbled about in the sand, digging out a large, pure-white shell. 'Look, Mandy,' he said in a pleased voice. 'Ain't it – Mandy?'

But the girl wasn't listening. She was shading her eyes against the glare of the sun and frowning at something sprawled on the sand a little way away. The boy followed her gaze.

'Rob,' said Mandy slowly. 'What's that over there?'

The boy stood up, clutching the white shell. 'It's a dog,' he said in surprise. 'Let's have a look.'

Seconds later they were crouched by its side. The dog lay lifeless, drenched to the skin, its long black fur matted and, where the heat of the sun had begun to dry it out, thickly crusted with salt. The shape of its ribs could be seen through the wet hair plastered to its skin.

'It stinks,' said Rob, truthfully.

'Poor thing,' said Mandy, and reached out to stroke it.

'Amanda! Robert!' cried a sharp voice, and they both jumped. A tall woman with curly blonde hair was hurrying towards them. 'Don't even think about touching that – _thing_.'

'What if it's hurt, though, Mum?' argued Mandy.

'Hurt!' exclaimed the woman, dragging her daughter away. 'It's _dead_. For heaven's sake. Covered in germs – disgusting, someone really should remove it. Now, come on you two – it's time for lunch, I brought sandwiches.'

The two children followed her reluctantly, casting curious glances back at the dead dog, whose body was being washed gently by the lapping waves.

They were eating their sandwiches when it happened. Rob heard or sensed something very big standing just behind him, or perhaps he heard its hungry panting. The boy turned his head in vague fear, and met the eyes of a giant dog – dark, shaggy, and very much alive.

Rob let out a strangled yell. The eyes of the dog were no longer fixed on him, but on the large pack of chicken and tomato sandwiches in his hands.

The dog gave a ravenous bark and leapt forward, knocking the young boy into the sand. Mandy screamed and the children's mother leapt up in horror, beating at the dog with her handbag – but the dog was running, the sandwiches in its jaws, and soon the startled and terrified cries of the children dwindled to nothing in his ears.

The dog ate the sandwiches as it slowed to a halting lope. They disappeared in a very short time. The animal was starving and exhausted and in no condition to run for very long. But the bread and meat satisfied the immediate sharp pangs of hunger and all it wanted now was somewhere safe, to lie down and recover its strength – just for a few moments. There was no time for a long rest, but the creature needed somewhere to stop for a moment and gather its thoughts.

The dog was off the beach by now, and in the tourist-crowded streets that faced the sea. Growling savagely at the people who pointed and stared at him, the dog slipped through the crowds and into the quieter side streets. There was a dark gap beside a fish and chip shop, conveniently barricaded off by the shop's huge rubbish bins. The dog wriggled on its belly beneath one of the bins, and found itself in a narrow, crooked alley. A quick glance round showed the alley to be deserted, and likely to remain so. The dog crouched in a narrow beam of sunlight and then slowly it began to change.

Its long curved back straightened, the fur shrank from its face and body, the long muzzle retracted and its paws became human hands resting on the dirty gravel.

Sirius Black was almost too exhausted to move. He sank from his crouched position to a sitting one, leaning his back against the cold wall. His body was heavy with fatigue and he was soaked to the skin and shivering despite the warmth of the air around him, but his mind was alert. He knew the Dementors would soon be on their way, and he could not afford to fall asleep in an alley right by the coast.

So it was not long before Sirius reluctantly straightened up, still leaning against the wall for support. His bones creaked and his muscles screamed in protest.

'Hell, I'm a wreck,' he muttered sourly to himself. Then he laughed suddenly, a humourless bark of a laugh, and added, 'But I know someone who'll be worse, when I get to him.' A manic light burned feverishly in his eyes. He put one hand inside his drenched, ragged grey robes. The paper was still there – wet and crumpled, but intact. Sirius smiled grimly. The thought renewed his ragged strength. Sirius had been fighting so hard for his life in the sea that the thought of the rat had been temporarily pushed aside.

'I'll get you, Wormtail,' he said with a dark ferocity that was laced with resolve. Sirius pushed his body away from the wall with long, bony fingers. 'I'll get him for you, James,' he breathed.

The Dementors would be looking for him already, Sirius knew. He could not skulk in this alley all day, nor did he desire to. His direction was north. Wormtail would be at Hogwarts in two months. Sirius stood a few moments, relishing his human form and brooding on his dark thoughts. It would take him all those two months to get to Hogwarts, and there was little time to waste. Harry was at Hogwarts, little Harry, and he was in danger... little Harry? He wasn't a toddling one year old anymore, Sirius reminded himself, as he readied himself to return to his Animagus form. He would be thirteen soon, older than he and James were when they first met...

Seconds later, a mangy black dog sprang from behind the dustbins into the streets of Lowestoft. The dog padded slowly but purposefully through the streets, occasionally glancing at road signs and scavenging near-edible food from bins on the way. But Sirius' thoughts were not on what he was eating (and a good thing, too – it was a maggot-infested sausage, discarded from a hot dog at least a week ago); he was remembering a day, nearly twenty years ago. A good day, and a fragment of memory that only came back to him now – now that the Dementors were not around to suck it out of him.

He was on the Hogwarts Express, sitting in a compartment with two other new students, both of whom looked excessively nervous. None of them were speaking. Sirius had tried twice to start a conversation, but finding that the girl and boy seemed only capable of speaking in monosyllables had given them up as a bad job. He had settled back in his seat and closed his eyes, feigning indifference. Soon Sirius was extremely bored.

So he jumped to attention at once when a loud _bang!_ issued from the corridor outside, followed by the sound of much shrieking and laughter.

Sirius leapt up without giving his travel companions a backwards glance, and slid open the compartment door. A girl with long red hair reeled into his arms, waving her own furiously.

'Whoa!' said Sirius, supporting the girl awkwardly – she seemed incapable of righting herself. She was extremely pretty, with startling green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose.

'Take it off me, you ––!' she yelled, hardly noticed Sirius' wince as one of her flailing arms smacked him in the face.

Propping the girl up as best he could, Sirius searched the laughing crowd in search of the offender. He spotted him without difficulty – a boy of his own age with hazel eyes, incredibly messy hair and a look of total shock and contrition on his face.

'I'm sorry!' the boy yelled, above the noise. 'Here – er –' and he shouted a garbled spell, jabbing his wand at the girl with long red hair.

The girl immediately stopped her uncontrolled fall against Sirius' body, and straightened up with immense and freezing dignity.

'It was a mistake,' said the messy-haired boy hastily, 'honest. I wasn't aiming at you, I...'

The sentence trailed feebly away into nothing as the girl flounced past him and down the corridor to a compartment. The boy was left staring after her with an odd mixture of remorse and amusement on his face.

Sirius squirmed his way through a group of sixth-years and found himself next to the boy, who, now that the excitement was over, was soon forgotten.

'Nice one,' he said, grinning.

The boy grinned back sheepishly. 'I really wasn't aiming at her,' he said. 'I was trying to get _him_. But he dodged.' He pointed at through a compartment window. Sirius saw a sallow-skinned boy with dark hair staring at them with resentment.

'Why, did he do something to you?' he asked the boy, who shrugged.

'Not really. But he's ugly and I wanted to try out the charm,' he said, another grin flashing across his face. 'It's called the Jelly Legs Charm – just invented. Only, I missed.'

'I gathered,' said Sirius drily, rubbing his sore nose. 'She'll hate you forever, you realise that?' And they both laughed, though James gave a slightly wistful look in the direction of the red-haired girl's compartment. After a pause in which the two boys studied each other briefly, Sirius stuck out his hand.

'Sirius Black, honoured to meet you,' he said formally, as he had always been taught to introduce himself.

The other boy looked slightly surprised, but took the proffered hand and pumped it vigorously. 'I'm James Potter.'

Twenty years later, Sirius the dog ran through the hot streets of the small town and shook his head at the memory. The pain of losing James was still unbearably fresh – Dementors had sucked his thoughts dry over the twelve years he had been under their guard, and now that he was free, fragments of memories and unconnected images all came tumbling back to him with dreadful clarity. Sirius forced himself not to think of the later, worse memories. He could not cope with them right now – he needed time. For now, he was content to remember James – James, younger than Harry would be at now.

Harry... Sirius felt a sharp pang pierce him. He wondered if Harry looked like James now that he was in his teens – he had certainly had the messy black hair when he was a baby.

Sirius suddenly had a crazy, burning desire to see James' son again. He stopped dead in the street, torn. It was impossible, he told himself. For one thing, he had no idea where Harry now lived – seeing as the little house in Godric's Hollow was – gone. Sirius swallowed. Then he began to pace.

Remus, he thought suddenly. _Moony will have taken him in – surely he would_.

The thought of Remus caused another pang. If Harry was at Remus' he could see them both. It would give him strength for the long journey before him...the sight of dear old Moony, and James' son, would be all the food and drink he needed. Sirius gave a decisive shake of his fur, and began moving once more. He didn't care. He was going to Remus', just to get a glimpse of the two of them. He needed it.


	3. London

2.

Remus' family home lay in the outskirts of London, and that was where he had been living when – _it_ had happened, twelve years ago. Sirius had no idea if after twelve years Moony would still be there, but it was his only hope. He was far away, but Sirius was determined. He was fairly sure he could get there in a week, if he made haste.

The days and nights of long, hurried travelling through town and countryside, with sleep taken only in snatches and food stolen at any opportune moment, did not weary Sirius at first. He gloried in the open air, the freedom, and he took pleasure in the feeling of strength returning to his body, the long-unused muscles beginning to harden and some of the shine coming back to the dull, matted black fur.

In less than a week he was in Remus' neighbourhood, for as he got closer and his body grew fitter, he pressed forward ever more eagerly, keenly anxious to see Remus and Harry once more. He reached the dingy London semi-detached about four o' clock one morning. It was the same as ever: paint peeling, chimney crooked, shutters closed. Wait - shutters closed? That wasn't usual...Sirius realised with a jolt what it must mean. Dammit. He looked upward knowing perfectly well what he would see, and sure enough, the full moon peeped from behind a cloud. But there was no sound from within the house. Remus must have some pretty strong silencing charms on himself and the brickwork of the cellar where he transformed, thought Sirius absently as he stared hungrily at the house. Was Harry in there? he thought. Perhaps lying in bed, dreaming of Hogwarts – for he should have received the letter by now.

Then Sirius came to his senses with a jolt. Full moon. Remus, if he were inside – and the closed shutters convinced Sirius that he was – would be a fully-formed werewolf. What the hell had he been thinking? His eagerness to see Harry had blinded him. Sirius realised, with sudden bitter clarity, that Dumbledore would never have let Harry reside with a werewolf, and Remus would of course have refused, too. Remus had always been far too aware of the threat he posed to others.

But where, then was Harry? Sirius suddenly felt exhausted once more. He flopped onto the pavement outside Remus' house and sighed gustily, trying to concentrate his thoughts. He was trying to remember the night when he had returned to Godric's Hollow and the shattered house for the last time. He knew he had seen Harry there, and Hagrid was taking Harry somewhere...

It was difficult... Sirius could only remember flashes of this night. The Dementors had forced him to relive the worst parts – Sirius' insides twisted as he struggled not to remember the finding of James and Lily's bodies. And the smaller details...they had trickled away into the grey fog of memories neither happy nor unhappy, which the Dementors had not bothered to take, but had not been constantly pressed upon him again and again, blotting out all else. Not like James' hand, fingers outstretched towards the sky – his broken figure, beneath a crumpled door – his eyes – Sirius had to restrain a whine of fresh grief. He forced himself to think beyond that part, to Hagrid and the tiny bundle of blankets in his great arms. He remembered asking Hagrid for Harry – 'I'll take care of him,' he had said. And Hagrid had refused. Dumbledore. He was taking Harry to Dumbledore.

Was Harry living with the Headmaster then? Sirius thought confusedly, then dismissed the thought with a weary sigh. No – that wasn't right. He knew Hagrid had told him – had said Harry was going – _where?_

Remus could tell him, he reflected ironically, if he didn't kill him first. Remus would have believed Wormtail's lies, would believe he had killed Wormtail there in the street after betraying James and Lily. If only he had. If only he had been quicker with his wand...

Sirius snorted. His thoughts were all over the place tonight. Exhaustion was catching up on him, he still had not seen Remus, and he still could not remember where Harry was supposed to be. Maybe he would have to go to Hogwarts without – and see Harry there.

Well, maybe. Sirius dragged his body wearily up from the cold, dewy pavement. He would get a glimpse of Moony first, though. Merlin grant him that.

Sirius crept round the side of the house, silent as his own shadow, and waited for daybreak.

Remus did not open the shutters that morning – well, he wouldn't, Sirius realised. He'd be recovering. Strange to think how many transformations Moony had gone through alone since he'd been in Azkaban... It pained him to think of Remus at this moment. Sirius knew full well that without human aid directly after a transformation, Remus would be spending a good part of that first day lying on the floor of the cellar, too exhausted and scratched up to drag himself up the stairs. It was all Sirius could do to stop himself breaking into the house and hauling Remus to his feet and half-carrying him into bed, as he had done so many times before...before everything went wrong.

If he lay close up against the side of the house, Sirius could not be seen from inside, and from outside he was not bothered. He was pretty sure the Dementors would not be looking for him in a dingy London suburb, of all places, and only Remus and Wormtail knew what he looked liked in his Animagus form.

Sirius took a few rest days at Remus', staying most the time against the wall except when he stole away to scavenge food. The strain of the two weeks' journey was catching up on him, and it was good to rest his weary limbs. When the shutters finally opened, on the morning of the third day, Sirius could barely restrain himself from leaping up in joy. It _was_ Remus. From his hiding place Sirius caught glimpses of his old friend. He was sorry to see Moony looking far older than he remembered – surely he himself had not aged so much? His friend even had a few streaks of grey in his hair, and his face was faintly lined. Remus looked tired; but, Sirius reminded himself, it was directly after the full moon.

Soon Sirius knew he had to be off. He couldn't risk Moony leaving the house suddenly and spotting him. And besides, he needed to get going. He was still no further north than he had been when he started. If only he could find out where Harry was living... but it looked like he would have to let the matter drop. If only his memory was not so damned patchy nowadays.

So Sirius loped away from Remus' with reluctant resignation. He would have to concentrate on his purpose. Find the rat – and once he was within reach –

Sirius stopped dead. He sat rather stupidly, staring at something that had caught his attention. It was a large, almost empty removal van – 'Farrell & Sons' – and beneath the company logo was an address.

Thirty three Hollyhock Lane, Yellowpool, Surrey.

Surrey, thought Sirius. There was something very important connected with the place, he knew it.

And it came to him slowly, dredged from some foggy corner of his memory.

Lily had a sister who lived in Surrey...

Yes, an older sister...Petunia...married to some awful Muggle man...

They lived in...Little Whinging, that was it. He, Sirius, had once laughed with Lily at the name.

Petunia and – and Vernon. They were Harry's aunt and uncle.

Hagrid's words came back to Sirius slowly, as though returning from the depths of a dark pond. 'Can't give him ter yeh, Sirius. Takin' him to his aunt an' uncle. Dumbledore's orders.'

Harry was in Surrey.

It took Sirius less than a second to decide what to do.

The removal men never realised, as they drove back to Yellowpool, Surrey, that they had company. Sirius crouched in his dog form behind a rocking chest-of-drawers, and tried to rest, though the jolting made it difficult. He was quietly, fiercely elated. He was going to see Harry – and in some inexplicable way, Sirius knew that seeing James' son would not only lend him strength. It would heal...the past was far too raw right now, but seeing Harry would almost be like seeing James again. James again, James again, James... Sirius put his head between his paws, which were vibrating with the motion of the heavy lorry, and emitted a soft, almost inaudible whine.

They reached Surrey later that afternoon, and Sirius, after having dragged his dog form through field, meadow and town for a whole week, developed great respect for Muggle transport.

Sirius still did not know where Harry lived exactly, and this only hit him after he had wandered the streets of Surrey for several hours. He began to grow impatient. Surrey wasn't that big, was it? Surely he must find him soon...if only there were some clue.

The days passed, and Sirius grew increasingly agitated. He ran up and down the streets, padding furiously past rows of neat, tidy square houses. Surrey _was_ pretty big, then. Time was running short, and he ought to have been making his way northward for over two weeks now. Could he ever forgive himself if he reached Hogwarts too late, and Wormtail had already acted? Would he then be indirectly responsible also for the death of James' son? The thought was too painful to bear. But still he had a desperate desire to satisfy this need first, and Sirius stayed with dogged perseverance, wandering, searching, looking into the windows of more houses than he could ever count. All he wanted was a glimpse. Some reassurance. Some – he didn't even know any more. If he had not been insane in Azkaban, thought Sirius ironically one night, he was turning it now...

And then it happened. It was growing late one evening, perhaps around ten o' clock, and Sirius was pacing swiftly down a long curved road lined with magnolia trees. Somebody was hurrying up the road towards him – too far yet to see, but Sirius' dog ears pricked up. Hastily he slunk out of sight in the dark gap between two houses. It had become his habit to hide at anybody's approach, wizard or Muggle. This person had strange footsteps. Halting, yet hasty, and from the sound of it they were dragging something extremely heavy. Sirius wished they would hurry up and go past, so that he could resume his search.

The person came in sight, and Sirius watched them idly from the corner of his eye. A child – a boy – too indistinct in the half-dark to scrutinise properly. But then Sirius froze. And he stared, his great pale dog's eyes burning. It looked like James – it was a teenage boy – it _must_ be –

It was all Sirius could do not to leap out at the boy in a frenzy of delight. He could see him properly now; a boy with messy hair, just like James – and his face, his expression – Sirius's mind was reeling from the shock of the resemblance. He stared at Harry hungrily, devouring every detail of his appearance, and unconsciously pressed forward a few steps to get a better view. But once the first shock had faded a little, Sirius began to wonder; what the hell was Harry doing wandering the streets of Little Whinging at nightfall, dragging a school trunk, a broomstick, even an owl? Even in the semi-darkness, Sirius could see that Harry's cheeks were flushed. He looked angry, also slightly desperate. Sirius watched, claws gripping the gravel, as Harry looked about him with troubled eyes. The boy was thin, and looked very young for his thirteen years – and Merlin, he really did look so much like _James_...

Perhaps in his distress Sirius was breathing too hard, for Harry's shoulders suddenly tensed and the boy whipped around, staring directly at the spot where Sirius was hiding. Sirius froze. Surely Harry couldn't see him; it was too dark, and he was well hidden. He began to back further into the alley, but Harry was too quick for him.

'_Lumos_!' said the boy, and the end of his wand burst into light, throwing Sirius into sharp relief. For a split second, Harry and Sirius looked right into each other's eyes, and Sirius' heart gave a painful leap – then Harry stumbled backwards in evident horror, tripping over his trunk and throwing out both arms to break his fall.

A flash, a screech, and Sirius reared backward with a soft yelp as a gigantic purple bus appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The Knight Bus – of course – he had used it, years back, when he ran away... When a conductor leapt out of the bus, Sirius came to his senses. Harry wasn't hurt; Sirius made sure of that, casting one longing glance behind him, before he turned tail and rapidly fled the scene.


	4. Road to Darlington

3.

As he had known it would, the glimpse of Harry had given Sirius new strength of determination. No more delays, no more skulking around the streets looking for old friends and shreds of his past. And now he had to make even greater haste; he didn't know how long it would take Wormtail to act once Harry was within his reach, and every minute Harry was near him he was in danger. Sirius looked up at the guiding Pole star, and set off northwards with purpose in his stride and a steely resolve in his yellow eyes.

And as he ran north by the light of the stars, Sirius gave in to the temptation of memory. The sight of Harry had brought a fresh flow of almost-forgotten times with James and Remus – random incidents, just times when they had a good laugh – even with Peter. But the thought of schoolboy Peter was never long touched upon in Sirius' mind; it made him too angry. He preferred to dredge up other memories, and savour their return to his ravaged mind.

The first time for him that the Hogwarts Express pulled up at Hogsmeade station – a clear night, like tonight in fact, with a swathe of bright hard stars across the sky. The long journey across the Hogwarts Lake, he and James crouched together in one boat, shivering with excitement and cold. And the Sorting ceremony – what a laugh! Sirius had been completely certain of being placed in Slytherin; it was in his blood, after all. And he had been regretful and angry that this should be his fate; he would have liked to be in the same house as this James Potter, but he doubted that James would ever be sorted into Slytherin...

When Sirius had the battered old Sorting Hat placed over his head by a stern-faced Professor McGonagall, he had been surprised that the Hat had not immediately yelled the dreaded name. But no – it had deliberated long and hard, remarking on his extreme difference to the other Blacks it had Sorted.

_Hmm_, it had said thoughtfully. _Not what I expected at all. Where is your cunning, your love of the dark, the cruel, and the twisted? Why, you are hardly a Black at all –_

No, Sirius had thought, his heart leaping with delight at the Hat's surprised musings. I'm not like the rest of them. I knew it.

_Happy to be different from your family, hm?_ said the Hat shrewdly. _Not proud of your family blood?_ _Yes. I know just where to put _you _– well, good luck to you lad, in _GRYFFINDOR!

And, of course, the delight and wonder of that first evening had been topped off when not much later, his new acquaintance James Potter had slid into the seat next to him with a huge grin on his face.

Back in the present day, Sirius' muscles were aching again and his thirsty tongue lolled out of his mouth. One of his paws was painful and he didn't know whether he had stepped on a thorn or merely bruised it on a sharp pebble. But his quick, lolloping gait did not falter. He pressed onwards, snatching mouthfuls of water from puddles and streams and ignoring the throbbing pain in his foot. Other memories swarmed his mind, and many scores of miles were covered in those first few weeks as he mused on them. There had been one time...yes...the memory was there. It was when they had made Moony's acquaintance.

At first James and Sirius had hardly been bothered to get to know the two quiet boys who shared their dormitory, and after the four had exchanged names and a brief history, James and Sirius tended to stick together, just the two of them, and Remus and Peter stayed apart. Sirius had taken an immediate liking to James, which was warmly reciprocated. The two of them had a similar sense of humour, that tickled each other greatly. In James' company, Sirius discovered to his surprise that he too had the gift of making people roar with laughter. In his own family, Sirius' dry comments and humorous outlook on life had never been particularly appreciated.

It all started when James played a joke on him. James might have been a first year but he was already adept at several amusing jinxes and spells; as Sirius discovered when he glanced carelessly into the mirror one morning and gave a yell of horror. The face that stared back at him in shock was pale mottled green, and the skin looked oddly moist. And surely his eyes weren't that bulgy – Sirius fell back onto his bed, horrified. He must be ill – very ill. He needed to get to the hospital wing...

He stumbled towards the door, then heard a muffled noise like someone trying very hard not to laugh. Sirius whipped around to see James sitting up in bed wide awake, with the coverlet stuffed into his mouth. When he saw Sirius's frog-like countenance full on, however, it was too much. The coverlet was dropped and James roared with laughter, rolling around helplessly on the bed. This was the first time Sirius discovered James' one great weakness – that of becoming utterly helpless when he laughed too hard. Sirius looked at James' prostrate body, shaking with uncontrolled laughter, and stomped over to his bedside. James let out a muffled _oomph_ as Sirius sat on him, hard.

'O-ouch!'

'Give me my face back before I squash you to death,' Sirius threatened, sitting on James like an immoveable stone. James gave in, and pulled out his wand with difficulty. Soon Sirius was back to his normal form, and he got up with great dignity.

'Oh, Merlin,' gasped James breathlessly, rolling into a sitting position. 'Frog-face Hex. What a gem. We'll have to try that out on Snivellus.'

Sirius, now that his good looks were returned to him, was beginning to see the funny side of the whole thing. He flashed a grin at James.

'Yeah,' he agreed. 'Only trouble is, it'll just improve him, really...'

James chuckled again, then, with characteristic energy, leapt out of bed, swinging himself up and forward using one of the bedposts of his four-poster. He rarely got out of bed in any normal way.

'Man, I'm starving,' said James, as he threw on his clothes and robes with remarkable speed. James also rarely did anything slowly. 'Come on, mate, how long's it take you to put on one shirt?'

Sirius carried on buttoning his shirt carefully. James rolled his eyes. 'Go ahead, have breakfast if you're so hungry,' laughed Sirius. 'I'll meet you down there.'

James grinned. 'By the time you're ready I'll have eaten _everything_, frog face,' he said, as he zipped towards the door.

Remus and Peter had been watching the whole episode from their respective beds, Peter admiring and Remus wearing an expression of mild amusement.

'You're not going to let him get away with that, are you?'

Sirius looked round as Remus suddenly spoke. The brown-haired boy looked back quizzically, a smile playing round his lips.

'What d'you mean?' said Sirius.

'Well,' said Remus, evidently considering his words carefully. 'If I had just been hexed to look like a frog, I would probably do something back.'

'You would?' asked Sirius in astonishment. It had not occurred to him that the pale-faced Remus would be the type for revenge.

'Oh, nothing violent,' said Remus quickly. 'Just a joke – give him a taste of his own medicine – or – or something like that.'

He spoke eagerly, though with some restraint; it was as though Remus was sure of his footing yet scared of making a blunder somehow. It didn't take long for his words to hit home – a moment later, Sirius was looking at Remus with new respect.

'I like your thinking, and I don't believe we've met,' he said jokingly. 'Sirius Black.'

Remus grinned back, looking relieved and glad. 'So, what are you going to do?'

Sirius thought for a moment. It didn't take long for his brain to get ticking.

'Itching powder in his pyjamas?'

Remus shook his head. 'Too painful, and you can't control it. It'll stop being funny pretty soon. How about a Sticking Charm?'

Sirius chuckled. 'Excellent. A Sticking Charm on his pyjamas!' He was already grinning just at the thought, till he noticed Remus' expression. 'What?'

'What's it with you and pyjamas?' asked Remus, evidently amused yet slightly exasperated. 'The best place to use a Sticking Charm is on a hat...a really _bad_ hat.'

Remus always had been the brains behind the operation, thought Sirius to himself, amused. He wondered briefly what Moony was doing nowadays – it wasn't going to be easy for a werewolf to get a job, they had discovered that right after Hogwarts. What a shame if he had ended up in some worthless Muggle factory. He had had a talent for pranks that, Sirius realised now, had probably been the greatest contribution to their success as Marauders. Funny they'd not noticed it at the time – probably because Moony wasn't as loud and show-offy as he and James had been, Sirius thought with a snort.

The sticky hat prank had really been one to remember. Looking back on it now, Sirius wasn't sure which had been the best part – James' ticklingly effeminate scream upon seeing himself wearing a pink fedora, or himself looking for a counter-charm only to pretend to discover, with a gasp of horror, that the Sticking Charm was of the Permanent variety...

If he could have chuckled in his dog form, Sirius would have. It was early morning now, and he had been running all night, rarely stopping to catch his breath. He found it was easier just to keep going once he had started, for once he stopped too long, his muscles stiffened up abominably. He had made excellent progress; over two weeks now since fleeing Surrey, he had been on the move, and in the dim light he now saw a road sign up ahead, perched crookedly at a crossroad. It told him that he was already on the road to Richmond, near Darlington. Sirius' spirits lifted. He was past Yorkshire – he must be halfway already; he hadn't been expecting that. He had never been the athletic one – James always took the trophy for _that_. And here he was running half the length of Great Britain. Well, thought Sirius, feeling the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he even increased his pace, I'll know what to do next time I need some exercise. Find me a rat to kill.


	5. The Scottish Border

4.

Sirius skirted round Darlington in less than an hour and before the morning was out was back in wide, open fields far from any town. That day only the harsh-voiced crows saw the lean black dog loping through the lower reaches of county Durham. Twice more, Sirius was lucky enough to secure rides in the back of vans, and he thanked Muggle drivers with silent fervour as he watched the swiftly-changing landscape through the dust-stained back windows as the vehicles rolled northwards.

And so a week passed, and now in the cool dusk of an August evening, a dark dot could be seen travelling rapidly along a winding worn-out track. Sirius ran almost tirelessly through the rugged purple wilderness of lower Scotland, despite the extreme lack of sustenance. The endless fields of northern England and the sprawling city of Edinburgh were behind him, and jagged spiny mountains loomed up on the horizon.

For a while now, Sirius' journey had been relatively easy. He had deliberately chosen to travel through the back streets of towns when he had to go through them, and through wild country lanes when he didn't, and had thereby avoided running into too many unwelcome people. Not that anyone would recognise him in his Animagus form – but Sirius couldn't help feeling uneasy when he saw the posters up on telegraph poles and bus shelters, with his own madly laughing face displayed and the offer of a frighteningly large reward. Once, Sirius thought, he would have taken pleasure in running disguised through the danger, but not this time. He guessed that where the posters were, Dementors would be searching the streets, and he couldn't risk his soul now. Not before he had taken Wormtail's own worthless one and broken it to pieces...

Sirius' eyes gleamed suddenly as they widened. It was almost as though thinking of the prison guards had jinxed him; with a sinking horror, Sirius sensed a presence ahead, of something cold, and draining. He swore inside his head as he slowed down and came to a halt, pausing uncertainly. So they were even searching remote Scottish villages? How many were there? From the intensity of the clammy chill that swept over him, causing a shuddering wave of sickness, Sirius guessed perhaps half a dozen. He had become an expert at estimating Dementor numbers whilst in Azkaban...what a useful skill, he thought ironically, as he began to slip away back along the route he had come. Could really use that in a day job.

As he reached a crossroads, Sirius saw the Dementors gliding closer with terrible swiftness. But they seemed not to have sensed him yet – they must be simply making a routine sweep of the area. Not for the first time, Sirius thanked his stars for his Animagus form, and fled down a different path to the one he had been following. An extra mile or seven for a safer roundabout route was most definitely the best option.

Sirius ran flat out for perhaps half a dozen miles, then dropped to the ground, flanks heaving and dripping with sweat. He could almost see James' amused smile in his head this minute, asking him why he had scampered away from the Dementors like a frightened schoolboy. _I did it for you, James!_ Sirius told his friend in his head. _For both of us. I'm not getting caught this time._

The extra effort had left Sirius completely drained. It didn't help that the only thing he had eaten for three days was a couple of miserably skinny rats. The long days and nights with only brief stretches of sleep had caught up with him, and the sickening presence of the Dementors had brought back muscle-memories of long, energy-less days and nights in his darkened prison cell. He couldn't go on. Sirius looked about him, panting. Somewhere safe to go, somewhere warm and dry, perhaps even somewhere with food, would be - well, nice.

The land around him was green but depressingly bleak and bare, and he was miles from the nearest village now. Sirius, even with he sketchy knowledge of Scottish geography, guessed correctly that with this route he was following the nearest place of human habitation was now several miles away. Even worse, there were ominous-looking rain-clouds on the horizon, and those combined with the heavy stillness of the air about him pointed inexorably to a heavy rainstorm. Sirius' tail was drooping and in his doggy eyes there were shadows of desperation.

He would never forget the wave of gratitude he felt when his searching eyes spotted the tiny square dot on the horizon. Sirius' overworked muscles complained loudly, but within twenty minutes he was there. The rain was on his tail now, and the first droplets splattered his fur as he ducked inside the stone-walled shed, which stood alone on the heel of the mountains. It was evidently abandoned, for the few hay bales inside were dry and rotting, emitting a sweet, pungent smell. Sirius' spirits rose a couple of extra notches when he heard the squeaking of many rats scattering at his approach. _Oh, Merlin,_ he thought, suddenly realising. _I'm actually getting excited about having rats for lunch. When Wormtail is dead, the first thing I'm going to do is eat a six-course dinner, with _all_ the fixings! _

For now though, the rats sufficed. They were big, meaty ones and delightfully slow and easy to catch. Sirius gulped down a few choice ones then flopped on top of a warm, springy hay bale. It was extremely comfortable, lying there as the rain outside began to sweep down in earnest, and Sirius soon gave in to dreams. Over the last few days, memories had been crowding in on his starved brain, being dredged up from that small dark pool that was all that was left him after twelve years at the mercy of the Dementors. Now each memory that poured from the ever-widening floodgates was fighting for recognition and importance. So it was no surprise that when Sirius slept, he dreamed again of a time at Hogwarts. It came back to him with startling vividness.

It was their second year, and James had just made the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was a Chaser. Scoring six goals in his first match against Slytherin hadn't helped his ego any; Sirius was becoming adept at wrestling James to the ground when he got too cocky. James was strong for his size, but Sirius had the advantage of height (and Moony's help, if he needed it. Peter had been hopeless at wrestling, but he cheered them on).

But Sirius, Remus and Peter were not the type to grudge James his glory as a member of the Gryffindor team, and when one sunny Saturday afternoon James suggested they go down to the Quidditch pitch and give him some scoring practice, they readily agreed. The four of them trooped down to the huge rectangular stretch of grass, James with his Cleansweep Two and the rest of them with battered old school brooms tucked under their arms. They were nearly there when they spotted a red-haired girl walking towards them, alone, and also with a broom under her arm. She evidently saw them, but at the sight of James and his highly-polished Cleansweep, her eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin a little higher, evidently prepare to ignore the lot of them. Sirius risked a quick glance at James. Though his best friend had not, as yet, said anything specific to him about his feelings concerning Lily Evans, it had been obvious to all of them that he was totally smitten. James was looking surprisingly indifferent to Lily's blatant rejection of him, but Sirius saw in his best friend's slightly flushed cheeks that he was, in actual fact, more than a little upset.

James called out to Lily, barely noticing when Sirius and Remus' simultaneously elbowed him in the ribs.

'Hey, Evans, what were you doing on the pitch?'

Lily tossed her head and continued to walk past the four of them as though she hadn't heard.

'Hi, Remus, Peter,' she said, pointedly ignoring the other two. Sirius raised his eyebrows.

'What did I ever –'

James thumped him in the chest to stem the indignant flow of words, and hastened after Lily, who was walking perceptibly faster. Sirius watched with interest, as he nursed his bruised chest.

He caught her by the arm, and she rounded on him, enraged to the point where she forgot not to talk to him.

'Get lost, Potter! Find some other girl to stalk, why don't you?'

James let go of her arm as though it had burnt him.

'Wait,' he said. 'You were practising, weren't you? For Davey's place as Chaser?'

Davey Gudgeon had been an excellent Chaser, more than usually daring and ready to take knocks – but his enthusiasm had backfired in the last match, when the Slytherin Beater, exasperated at Davey's spate of goal scoring, had smashed a Bludger directly into the back of his head. After crashing heavily to the ground, Davey would be out of play for at least a month.

Lily said nothing, and James pressed the opportunity. 'You'd be a good Chaser, Evans,' he said. 'I've seen you play.'

'What, on another of your stalking sessions?' retorted Lily.

'No,' said James, hurt. 'On our last flying lesson with Madame Hooch, last year.'

'Oh,' said Lily, in a softened tone. 'That. Well – yes, I was going to try for Chaser, okay? I was practising shooting. And I'm awful. Satisfied?' And she made as if to move on.

James stopped her by grabbing onto her cardigan, and Sirius rolled his eyes. James never had been particularly tactful.

'What are you –' she began, but James cut her off.

'You aren't awful,' he said seriously. 'Really, Evans, I mean it. I've seen you play. It must've been nerves, or just that you felt a prat practising up there on your own. Come with us, go on – Remus can be Keeper, he's not bad, and me and Sirius can Chase with you – and then you'll have the feel of a real game, right?'

Lily hesitated, evidently torn.

'It's not worth throwing away the chance to make the team, just 'cause you hate me, is it?' asked James, trying to grin. 'And anyway –'

'Oh, fine!' said Lily ungraciously, before James could press her any further. 'I'll come with you. Just this once. And don't get any ideas!'

'None at all, none at all,' said James hastily, though he couldn't suppress a grin of delight. 'C'mon then.'

Sirius, Remus and Peter welcomed Lily into their ranks warmly, and for a while she relaxed and seemed almost glad to be with them. The Marauders could be very charming when they chose, and she was pretty friendly with Remus already.

The practice session went extremely well for the first hour or so. Lily was slightly nervous at first, which tended to throw her aim a bit, but Sirius and James worked carefully to set her at her ease on the pitch. After several easy passes and enthusiastic praise (and much clapping from Peter, on the sidelines) whenever she shot well, Lily found her confidence. After that, it was hard to stop her. Moony, as James had said, was not a bad Keeper – but many more of Lily's shots found their mark than those that he saved, and Sirius knew that Remus wasn't just letting the Quaffle in, either.

It was such a shame, Sirius had reflected afterwards, that it had all gone so wrong at the end. If it hadn't, Lily might have continued that beginning of friendship with the Marauders, and perhaps have got together with James much earlier.

As it was though, it was not to be. James' twelve-year old hormones were just a little too much for him, and after an hour of successfully keeping them under control, he couldn't help himself. Sirius closed his eyes in despair and saw Moony and Peter do the same, as James gradually began circling closer to Lily on his broom, occasionally flashing her an embarrassingly soppy smile. Lily's own smile disappeared, and she threw the Quaffle badly on her next shot. It missed the hoop by a several feet.

'Try that one again, Lily,' said James, forgetting to use the far less personal 'Evans' in his excitement. 'What's the matter? You look tense.' He passed the Quaffle to her, and Lily caught it stonily.

'Nothing at all,' she said stiffly. 'But I think I'll stop now. Thank you for your help.'

'Lily?' said James, bewildered. 'But we were getting on so – I mean –' He drew his broom up alongside Lily's and patted her on the shoulder. 'Don't give up now, Lily,' he said, as she shrank from his touch. 'You were doing so well a minute ago, and we're all having such a good time!'

'Yes, you're having too good a time,' said Lily pointedly. 'That's the problem.' And she pointed her broom towards the ground

James' face fell. 'Wait, Lily!' he yelled. 'I didn't mean – wait up!' And he zoomed after her.

In his excitement, James had evidently forgotten that he was on a swift new Cleansweep Two and Lily on a school broom that would probably have been better off sweeping floors. A second later, it was too late to brake.

Sirius covered his eyes as James collided head first into Lily's broom, while they were still fifteen feet off the ground.

'James, you plank!' came Remus' voice from the goalposts, and Sirius saw him fly swiftly towards the ground. Peter was already running towards the wreckage, and with a sigh, yet an uncontrollable grin at the stupidity of it all, Sirius followed.

James lay on top of Lily's sprawled body, looking dazed. Both were covered in mud, for it had rained heavily the night before. Remus shoved James off Lily and helped her up. She clung to him, swaying slightly, her face mud-spattered and her eyes greener than ever in fury.

'Lily,' said Remus weakly. 'It was an accident. James didn't –'

But Lily had had enough. Leaving James to scramble dizzily to his feet, she turned on her heel and swept away with as much dignity as she could muster.

'At least she wasn't hurt,' said Sirius, as he supported the mournful James. 'If she'd broken her arm she'd never even look at you again.'

'I'm in the doghouse anyway,' groaned James. 'And it was going so well. Why did I have to be such an idiot?'

He was inconsolable for the rest of the week. And Lily never did try out for Chaser. Tactfully, Sirius and the others never mentioned it to their downcast friend, but they all knew that the only reason she hadn't gone for it was because James was on the team.

But Lily forgot it in the end, thought Sirius, as he rolled over in his sleep. And it had been funny, looking back. James had looked such a prat as he lay sprawled on top of Lily, squashing her further into the mud. On the hale bale, as the storm gathered outside, Sirius snuffled with laughter in his sleep.


	6. Hogwarts

5.

The morning dawned bright and clear, the skies quite rained out and the clouds scudding away to the west. Sirius breakfasted well on rats before he left the barn – he noted rather humourlessly that he now had quite a taste for them – and set off in the early morning sunlight. The rough seeded grass he pressed through was drenched with last night's rain and it clung to his long dark fur. The wet leaves and grass sparkled in the pale light, and the smell of soaked earth rose to Sirius' nostrils. He leaped over a small stream and began to bound up the stony heel of the mountain, filled with new energy. Good, plump rats certainly appeared to contain plenty of nutrients for a hungry dog.

Sirius' mind was still buzzing, and even exhaustingly active. After he had dredged up one long-lost memory he felt physically fatigued, yet he did not try to prevent this. Along with the strain of remembering came an ever-growing sense of completeness, as though he were a shattered jigsaw puzzle being pieced together with dizzying rapidity once more.

He found he had not forgotten the night they had become Animagi, especially the look on Moony's face when he realised what his friends had done for him – he remembered the celebrations after Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup three years running – he recalled every detail of the wonderful weeks when he finally left home, to spend a glorious summer of freedom with James and the Potters. And one chilly evening nearly a week after the night he had spent in the barn, Sirius pulled a small, rather odd memory from the corner of his mind. It was about Peter. Not Wormtail. Peter Pettigrew...

Sirius had generally found Peter a bore from the moment they had met. He put up with the blonde-haired kid because he liked Remus, and Peter was Remus' friend. Sirius had an air of casual indifference towards Peter Pettigrew, returning the younger boy's enthusiastic greetings with a nod, or a bored greeting if he was in a good mood – silence, if he were not. He had laughed at Peter on the night they became Animagi; a rat, while the rest of them were such big, sleek, powerful animals had seemed such an excellent joke. It was he who had thought up the brilliantly witty (or so he thought) nickname, Wormtail. He had allowed Peter to tag along after him, sometimes enjoying the kid's awe of him, the unrestrained admiration. But more often than not, Peter's inability to handle often even the simplest of spells simply got on Sirius' nerves. When he and James could employ almost every spell he had ever learnt with ease, it was easy to laugh at blundering, struggling Wormy...

It happened one day just after their OWLs. The exams were over and the fifth years had two glorious weeks of sunshine and freedom before going home for the holidays, and Sirius was waiting to make his move. He had had his eye on her for a while now – a tall Ravenclaw with hazel curls and dark eyes. The Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws took Herbology and Astronomy together, but for half a year Sirius had tried unsuccessfully to catch her eye. He had an irritable feeling that she was just playing hard to get, and this only strengthened his resolve.

It was a blazingly hot day, and Sirius was lounging by the side of the lake in the company of James and Moony and Peter. He half closed his eyes and chipped into the conversation every now and then so that the others wouldn't assume he was asleep (falling asleep in the middle of the day was far too dangerous – last time James had painted his ears, nose and eyebrows with Zonko's face paint, which even Madame Pomfrey had been unable to remove). But Sirius wasn't really concentrating on the conversation. Through his half-lowered eyelids he observed the hazel-haired girl sitting quietly on the other side of the lake – alone, reading, and absent-mindedly stroking one of the tentacles of the Giant Squid, which lazed in the shallow water near to her apparently enjoying the attention.

'It's like an oven out here,' James complained, suddenly pulling off his socks and throwing them aside. 'I'm going for a dip, coming?'

'It's deep in there,' Peter said with a slight nervous jump in his voice, and he edged away from the water. James rolled his eyes and looked at Sirius and Remus.

'Not today,' said Remus, as he kicked James' damp sock off his foot.

'Aw, come on, Moony, no one's here to see,' said James. They all knew Moony's self-consciousness concerning the large, ragged crescent-shaped scar etched into his side. But Remus shook his head stubbornly, and James shrugged.

'Just you and me then, Si—hey, Padfoot, where're you going?'

'I'll join you later,' yelled Sirius, as he walked away. 'Won't be a second.'

The hazel-haired girl across the lake had absent-mindedly pushed back her long curls with a hand still soaking wet from the lake water, and the bright sunlight flashed gold where it caught the wet locks. Sirius had finally snapped. The girl looked up as he approached, and smiled unsurely at him.

'All right, Marlene? Good book?' asked Sirius brightly, flopping down beside her.

The Ravenclaw looked slightly taken aback, and visibly leaned away as she answered primly, 'Yes, not bad, Sirius.'

Sirius felt rather offended. Did he smell bad, or something? He decided to turn on the charm. It rarely failed.

'Excellent,' he said, flashing her a smile. 'See you've made friends with the Giant Squits, I mean,' he corrected himself, 'Squid.'

Marlene didn't smile at his admittedly lame joke, and Sirius coughed, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

'Nice day,' he said, gesturing vaguely at the sky.

'Yes,' Marlene agreed. 'It is.'

There was a pause.

'You know,' Sirius said desperately, 'the Squid's pretty boring, isn't he? We should liven it up a bit.'

'Liven – how?' said Marlene in alarm, but Sirius had already whipped out his wand in inspiration.

'_Colores morphi!' _he yelled.

In an instant, the Squid's creamily translucent tentacles turned electric blue, then orange, sunshine yellow, baby pink, the colours rolling in liquid waves across the smooth skin. The waters heaved and they both leaped backwards as the Squid reared its giant head out of the lake. The sea-creature looked in evident astonishment at its rainbow-coloured appendages, then blinked its great eyes, pools of inky darkness, at them in bewildered hurt. Sirius grinned as Marlene finally chuckled, then broke out into hearty laughter.

'Oh, it looks so confused!' she giggled. The Squid sank beneath the surface, evidently offended, and they watched it shoot away, technicolour tentacles trailing.

'So, Marlene,' said Sirius casually, 'how do you fancy, you know – going to Hogsmeade together sometime? There's this great restaurant, the Jobberknoll's Nest, we could –'

But Marlene cut him off, the smile vanishing from her face in an instant. 'I'm sorry, Sirius,' she said. 'I thought when you came over you might be thinking – I mean – look, I think you're a good guy, you're funny – sometimes – and you, you are cool and everything' – she was stumbling over her words at this point, and a deep flush was rising in her cheeks – 'but I can't, I can't go out with you.'

There was another, very awkward pause.

'Why not?' asked Sirius finally. He turned away, pretending to look unconcerned, but he could feeling his own cheeks turning hot.

Marlene looked across the lake, scratching her ear in embarrassment. 'Well, you see, I'm - I'm already seeing somebody.'

'Oh,' said Sirius. Another pause. 'Oh.'

And that had been the end of it, for a few days at least. Marlene had refused to disclose the name of this secret suitor, and Sirius had left her abruptly. He returned to the Marauders with thunder in his face and for once they did not rib him – James was going through enough with Lily not to find others' unsuccessful love-lives amusing, and Remus and Peter kept pretty quiet, perhaps not wanting to evoke a bitter tirade against womankind in general. Sirius went to bed that night still smarting from the rejection.

It was only two days later when it happened. It was a Tuesday evening, James was in detention, Moony insisted on writing his Potions essay in silence, and Peter had disappeared somewhere or other – Sirius wasn't really interested in Wormy's exploits. He sat in a chair by the fire, drumming his fingers in boredom. Finally, unable to take the tedium, he rose. James was restacking dozens of Charms books on shelves for Flitwick – by hand – as a punishment for getting overexcited in that day's Summoning lesson and yanking the whole lot onto the floor. But Flitwick was soft, and Sirius guessed that James would be let out early. He left the Common Room and headed towards the Charms classroom.

He reached the third floor corridor, when two muffled but unmistakably familiar voice reached his ears. Sirius halted in astonishment. A conversation was going on behind the door of an empty classroom. Sirius quickly entered the room next to it – a disused store cupboard – pressed his ear against the cold stone wall and listened. They were not troubling to keep their voices low.

'But I – I thought you –' Marlene's voice was tremulous.

'Well,' said Peter, and coughed. 'I didn't mean to make you think...'

There was a short silence, then the sound of footsteps – then the slamming of a door. Sirius listened till the footsteps had faded, then emerged from his hiding place.

He flung open the door of the classroom and stared down at Peter's astonished face. Peter was sat upon a table, and jumped back at the thunderous look on Sirius' face.

'You?' said Sirius, accusing and softly furious. 'You were with Marlene – and you what, forgot to even mention it to us or something?'

'No!' said Peter, his voice cracking. The younger boy was flushed and his eyes were faintly puffy – and troubled. 'We – we'd only been together a few days, we sort of didn't tell anyone because it was, you know, nice to have secret...' he trailed off, swallowing.

But Sirius could tell there was far more to it than this, and asked brusquely, 'So what was all that about, you're having a little lovers' tiff or something?' He gestured at the doorway through which Marlene had stormed.

Peter was silent for a moment, then suddenly raised his eyes defiantly to Sirius' own. 'No,' he repeated shortly. 'That was me breaking it off with Marlene, actually. And if you want to know – I did it for you, Padfoot, so you might stop glaring at me like that.' His voice had grown stronger and his small, chubby chin was set.

Sirius' next furious sentence was lost in his throat. He could only stare at Peter wordlessly. Then he dropped down on the table next to him.

'Let me get this straight,' he said. 'You had just got together with Marlene, then you found out I liked her too – so you dumped her so she would be free?'

Peter nodded.

'Well,' said Sirius, whose mind had started to whirl blankly. 'That was – really decent of you Peter,' he blundered finally. 'But I can't believe you would –'

'It just didn't seem right,' said Peter unhappily. 'That I should be with her and you left wanting.'

Nearly fifteen years later, Sirius the dog stopped in his tracks. Marlene had gone out with him, in the end, for perhaps four or five months. But it never really worked – Sirius had always been too conscious of Peter's sacrifice to enter wholly into the relationship. Yet once they had broken it off, Peter had never tried to approach Marlene again.

Sirius gazed up at the guiding North Star, then turned away. It shone too brightly and he couldn't look at it any more. Padfoot flopped down on the ground, head in his paws, suddenly too exhausted to run any further. He wished he had not recalled that story. For the first time since he had cornered Wormtail in that dingy side street, before the street had blown up and Sirius' world with it, Sirius realised fully what he was heading northwards to do.

He was going north to murder his old friend.

For a long time, Sirius lay there in the twilight, looking with unseeing eyes at the glimmering evening dew in the grass. The scents of the dying summer day drifted through the air and Sirius felt suddenly very old; far older than his thirty-two years. Peter was surely only a few miles away, and now Sirius wished he were tens of thousands, so that the space between them might run deeper than the old grieving fury buried in his heart.

Rising in a crooked silhouette a few yards from where Sirius lay, was a dying tree, whose branches curled up to the darkening sky like long accusing fingers. Strangely similar to a human hand - oh, Merlin. Dogs cannot shed a tear for grief or loneliness, but as the twisted shape of the tree slowly made its impression upon Sirius' exhausted consciousness, he realised he was crying inside. Over and again, over the long years in Azkaban, he had seen that human hand - the hand of his friend - which reached up to the sky like a drowning man's. James had fallen under the blasted doorway, and his wand arm stretched upwards after death in futile defence. It had led Sirius' to the place where his friend lay, pale and lifeless under the rubble.

Slowly, painfully, Sirius rose from the grass, long dark fur glinting with dew, and limped forward – that bruised paw had never had a chance to heal – and his pale eyes gleamed. He had loved Peter Pettigrew as a brother, but his old friend had died a long time ago; from the moment he had pledged allegiance to Lord Voldemort. When the darkness, which was taking over in everywhere but the strongest hearts, had finally won...

'I'm not going to kill Peter,' thought Sirius, and gradually his strides lengthened.

'It's not Peter I'm after at all,' he thought again, more fiercely this time. 'I'm going to kill Wormtail, I'm going to kill the _rat_ who killed James, who murdered Lily, who destroyed everything that was good and perfect...who killed, who killed...'

Sirius' thoughts ran in circles, but his body ran straight as an arrow. From that moment on his bounding footsteps never faltered. For despite himself, his memories were breaking into more recent times – Sirius could not hold it back any more – he remembered over again with sickening clarity the night that Lily and James had been murdered. He remembered the dizzying panic when he arrived at Wormtail's empty home, the blank horror when he saw the crumbled ruins in Godric's Hollow, the draining weakness that had brought him crashing to his knees when he found Lily – the shaking, sobbing, disbelieving wreck he had become when he found James lying beneath that paint-blistered doorframe...

Disregarding the knowledge that Dementors could be within a mile of him and able to hear, Padfoot raised his head as he ran, and howled long and hard, with all the strength in his body. Muggle villagers in the deeps of Scotland heard him and looked out of their windows into the impenetrable dark, thinking of wolves and listening fearfully to the raw howls of pain and fury.

And at last, skirting round a great, looming peak and through a long, dark mountain pass – it lay before him in shimmering night time splendour. Sirius gazed through his pale dog's eyes at Hogwarts castle, dark and tall against the star-strewn sky. The windows were lit and the whole thing cast a rippling reflection in the black glassiness of the Hogwarts Lake. It was easy to slip past the dark-robed Dementors, who turned at his elusive presence, and sucked the air with long, rattling breaths. The thing they sensed was gone before they knew it. The dog headed for the depths of the Forbidden Forest, and midway there turned his head upwards again to look at the ancient castle, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The rat was in there, he could sense it, and the dog bared his sharp wolfish teeth in predatory anticipation. Whatever it took, however long it took, he was ready. He was thin and exhausted now, and his foot was bleeding afresh from the old thorn still pressed into brusied flesh, but the dog's eyes burned with feverish passion. Victory was already settled deep in his heart as he snarled. He might be twelve years too late; but after chasing down ordinary rats for his meals for the past long, difficult weeks, Padfoot was poised and ready, every muscle tense and quivering, dying to taste the blood of Wormtail.

FIN.

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**I just want to say a quick but heartfelt thank you to all those who have reviewed this story, especially seeing as I haven't, for once, pestered you all into doing so at the end of each chapter :D**

**To my anonymous reviewers Zoe and reader13, your reviews were much appreciated! Thanks!**


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